What my Grandma would have said...

Last night was amazing. I will admit that out loud I was saying "Of course it will happen." But inside I really didn't think they would allow it. I always make fun of people who say "They". My husband always says, "They say it's a great movie?", "They won't let a black man win the lottery." etc. I always ask, "Who are they?" Well, whomever "They" are, I thought "They" would keep Barack Obama from winning last night. My mom must have felt the same way, because somehow she kept from getting too excited over this past year. She seemed to want me to not get my hopes up. I don't think it clicked that this might actually happen until Barack won her state. The great state of Ohio. When I called her, she sounded shocked and hopeful. When at exactly 11:00PM, MSNBC announced that Barack Obama would be the next President of the United States, I exploded in tears and my husband dropped down to his knees. It was surreal.

The funny thing is what I keep thinking about is my Grandma Jones. What would she have thought? I remember a story my mom told me years ago. During the Martin Luther King Jr. era, my mother was just a little girl. One day, when watching him speak on the television, my Grandma looked at the TV and said, "That Niggas gonna get us killed." What would she say about Obama? To be honest, my fear is that my grandma is half right. What if he gets himself killed. I pray each and every day for his protection. I really don't know if the black community could take it. Good or bad, I have put a lot of my hopes and dreams in t this man, and will do whatever I need to do to help his presidency be a successful one.

On November 4th I didn't vote for Barack Obama. I voted for my little boys Cole and Eli. I voted for my 87 year old Grandfather who is probably still crying from yesterdays news. I voted for the Godmothers of both of my boys who are either in, going to, or returning from Iraq and Afghanistan at any given time. Most importantly, I voted for a child of God. A man just like me.

May God Bless and protect President Elect Barack Obama.

Will being thin again, make me happy?

I am one of them. A woman desperate to lose weight. I'm counting calories, fat grams, and working out. All to lose weight. I've been thin my entire life. I love working out and I never have been a big eater. Staying thin was never an issue for me. Then my dad died... in a gym. This is going to sound ridiculous, but every since my dad died on a treadmill at Ballys Total Fitness, I have panic attacks when ever I go in a gym (especially Ballys). It's not just me. My husband freaks out at them now as well. My dad died 4 years ago. Yes, that means I haven't worked out in 4 years! To top it all off, I've given birth to 2 little boys in the past 3 years. I still don't eat much, but not working out and 2 pregnancies has done nothing for my figure.

So, I'm going through all of these trials and tribulations to be thin again. With my "Gymaphobia", I've taken to running outside, biking, and using my elliptical in the basement. I'm doing all of this so I can be a size 8 again, and... and...and.... what? Get a man? Nope, got one of those. Wear pretty clothes? Nope, I've been "Servin' it up" lately. Why am I doing this? Ok, we can give the requisit to be healthy response. I'll buy that. Half my family, on both sides, have had obesity related issues, including my father, so being healthy is certainly a good idea. But, that's it. I'm actually happy with who I am. Can you believe it?!?! I am a 33 year old black woman who is content with her life. I'm happy!

Now, of course, I could use more money, a change in career, and a little more quiet in my life, but all-in-all... life is good. I'm still going to try and lose this weight I've managed to gain over the past 4 years. It's just nice to know that being thin will only add to my joy, not dictate it.

Am I strong enough for this?

When I was a little girl, when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said "A Mommy". That is, until I realized it was upsetting career minded women in my family. I then started saying "A Track Star and a Doctor". So, I slowly figured out that to be what I wanted to be when I grew up, I first had to become a track star or a doctor, meet a guy, and provide a stable home for my children. I did that. (Not the Track Star and Doctor part. I'm just a boring HR Manager.) I did everything I was supposed to do. I am that girl who follows the rules. Life is just easier if you do. It's funny how people congratulate me for living my life this way. i just want to laugh. I took the easy route. It's the rest of you that should be applauded.

The point is, I've got everything I want. I'm married to a good guy who gave me 2 beautiful little boys. We live in a nice house we own and together are able to provide a stable home for our little boys. But of course, with the good comes the bad. Both of my boys have Asthma (thanks to me of course). At this very second I am in the hospital with my youngest son. The second time this year. The first time we were in the hospital for 7 days, and this time we are on day 3, hoping to get out this afternoon. My youngest, Eli, is only 9 months old! My oldest, Cole, is 3 years old. When he was 10 months old, he also spent some time in the hospital. I follow all of the rules. I give them their medicine on time. We wash our hands 20 times a day. But, no matter how hard I try, every once in a while, they get so sick they end up back in the hospital. Between Cole and Eli, we've been to the ER 5 times this year. I should mention that one of those times was so that Cole could get stitches on his face!!

How could anyone be prepared for this? It's hard enough being a mother to healthy kids. (Potty training alone should win parents a medal!) I have 2 beautiful little boys... WHO CAN'T BREATHE!!! I know how they feel, because I have asthma as well. That just scares me more. I know what it feels like. I know that they feel like they've just run a mile and are now trying to breathe through a straw. I HATE that I did this to them!

Ok, I realize that I'm being dramatic. I realize that millions of people are living with asthma as I type this, and are living perfectly wonderful lives. Including myself. It's just different when you're the mom. Especially the mom of 2 asthmatics that are basically still babies. That aren't old enough to tell me what's wrong. My oldest is just getting to the point that he comes to me and wants me to pick him up when he's not feeling well. He truly believes that mommy can make everything all better. Can I? Am I qualified for this job? Am I strong enough?

As I mentioned, right now I'm in the hospital with Eli. I've been here since 3AM on Monday morning. That was also the last time I saw Cole. He can't come visit because Eli is in isolation. My husband says that he started wheezing yesterday, so my husband is giving him treatments at home. Hopefully, we won't be back up here with him. I really don't think I could take it. I realize God doesn't give you more than you can handle, but he may have overestimated me this time around. Now I undersatnd why my Grandma Jones would always say, "Lord, give me strength."

I Am My Father's Daughter

My father, Elezar Cole Jr, died 4 years ago today. We had anything but a perfect relationship, but I still loved him. To be honest, we fought constantly. But I miss him. I'm so angry that he never had a chance to meet Cole and Eli. He would have been an excellent Granfather. Especially to 2 little boys, that not only are named after him, but look like him.

My entire life everyone would say, "You look just like your dad." I hated it! I didn't want to look like my dad. He drove me crazy! Now I see him everywhere. When I look at my 2 boys, when I look at my sister, and, yes, when I look in the mirror. At my father's funeral, I read the poem below. I finally admitted... I am my father's daughter.

I am my father’s daughter
my smile
my nose
my ears
my skinny ankles
(my pretty face)

I am my father’s daughter
my laugh
my cry
my walk
my run

I am my father’s daughter
my sense of humor
my sarcasm
my bossiness
my temper
(The fact that we both believe that if everyone would just do what we tell them to do; there lives would be so much simpler!)

I am my father’s daughter

I see these things within myself everyday, but the gift I cherish most is his dedication, loyalty, and protective nature when it comes to my grandma and his brothers and sisters. This is where I directly mimic my Daddy. Until the very end of my days, I will do the same for all that my Dad and I love.

My name is Tanya-Marie Cole, C-O-L-E, and in 2 months, on my 30th birthday, I am getting married. My daddy WILL be there! I will see him in my Grandma’s heart, my Uncles faces, my baby sister’s eyes, and seared to my very soul. I know this because . . . I am my father’s daughter.

Why does my pedicurist hate me?

I, of all people, understand being mad for no good reason. But when you're in the service industry, you're supposed to suck it up! I have to be nice even when I feel like cussin' people out. Why can't others do the same for me?

When I went to get a manicure and pedicure, my pedicurist wouldn't even speak to me. She grunted and tapped my foot when she wanted me to do something. And then, the only time she actually spoke was when she made an ugly face and shouted "Razor!?!?" Now everyone at 2Q Nails knows my feet are so rough that I need a razor to cut off the crust. But wait, it gets better. Once she's done, she grunts and point to the manicurist chair. A different person does my manicure. She hated me too! She barely spoke and heaven help me when I smudged one of my nails, she wanted to slap me silly. Oh! And the pedicurist came over to give someone a manicure right next to me, and when the person sat down she spoke to that customer! "Hi! How are you today?" With a big smile. My mouth dropped and I turned and looked at my friend who just started laughing.

I hate people. Hmm... maybe that's why my pedicurist hates me?

The truth about waxing... down there.

Why did it take me 30 something odd years to finally fall for peer pressure?!?! I am not that girl. I know who I am (hint, the name of this blog). I don't need to prove myself to anyone or do things I 've never shown the least bit of interest in.

Now, with that being said, I have this friend... a crazy friend (Hey Crazy!). Who just makes even the most absurd things sound like a good idea. In the real world, we probably wouldn't even be friends. If we would have met at a party or school, we would have never spoken to each other. But , because God has a sense of humor, we met at work, and have actually become pretty good friends... until now.

This friend decided one day that we should all go get a bikini wax. I have no idea why "we" had to do it, but she's one of those people that makes it sound like the decision has already been made and that she's just letting you know so you can plan accordingly. I've never had a friend like this. Someone who's favorite color is pink, loves shopping, who's just plain girly (and bossy and CRAZY!). So, usually for entertainment purposes, I usually go along with whatever her new idea is. NEVER AGAIN!

So, we went to get our first bikini wax. I was afraid I would chicken out, so I marched in there first and just got it over with. We decided to get the "French Wax" on our first try. It hurt pretty bad, but all-in-all, it was ok. Here's where the problem comes in. Last week, we (meaning my friend) decided that we should just go balls to the wall and get a brazillian wax. For those of you that don't know, that means remove every ounce of hair off of your little girl. I actually pushed back on this, but, unfortunately, eventually decided to go for it. OH MY GOD! I refuse to even describe to you how awkward, embarrassing, and just plain painful the whole thing was. I will tell you that at one point I said, "Am I bleeding?"

So now I'm walking around with my "little girl" actually looking like a little girl's "little girl", but oh well. It was something new to try. But wait, it gets worse. I have a bad reaction to the wax! I break out with a horrible painful rash... down there. I am miserable, and I have my friend to thank.

I need new friends.

My husbands cheating on me... with me.

On the Metra, I usually sit with my husband and my friend in the section where you face each other. I sit next to my friend and across from my husband. I guess the casual watcher wouldn't know for sure which woman my husband was with. Well, for about 9 months (it felt longer) I was pregnant with my youngest son Eli. After giving birth and going on maternity leave for 3 months, I came back to work and therefore started riding the train again. One morning, it was just my husband I on on the train. My husband gets off at a stop before me, so he gave me a kiss and got off the train. A lady behind me then leans forward and says, "You know he's married right?" I smile and say, "I was at the wedding." Thinking she will catch on. She says, loudly, "You know and you're still with him?" I then turn around and point at my wedding ring. She then shouts,"Oh! So since you're married too, that makes it ok!?!" At this point, the entire train is quiet and listening to our confrontation. I am pissed off, stand up in my seat, completely turn around so that I'm inches from her face and yell, "HE'S MARRIED TO ME DUMB ASS!!" The entire train explodes in laughter. I am instantly embarrased and turn around and start e-mailing my family and friends on my treo. As I'm doing, this the train gets quiet again. Then all of a sudden, the man on the other side of the aisle, who happens to be facing us, explodes in a semi-stifled laughter. The entire train then errupts again. I just want to dissapear.

I'm not sure if this whole time she thought my husband was with my friend, or maybe she knew he was married to the pregnant me, but didn't recognize the unpregnant. Who knows. All I know is that my husband is cheating on me... with me.